What You Know
by oceanshell
Summary: Nothing mattered in the world but to survive. The abandoned cars came and went in a blur. The trees. The grass. Then she was out in a field, powering toward the next patch of forest. The air coming in and out of her lungs burned the delicate flesh of her throat. She didn't slow. AU. Shane/OC/Rick development. Contains scenes of violence, blood, sexual content, and strong language.
1. Prologue

**_What You know_**

* * *

_Nothing mattered in the world but to survive. The abandoned cars came and went in a blur. The trees. The grass._

_ Then she was out in a field, powering toward the next patch of forest. The air coming in and out of her lungs burned the delicate flesh of her throat. She didn't slow._

* * *

_Prologue_

Rosie left the cabin before the sun had crept above the skyline, knowing it would be for the best. She wasn't accustomed to staying in one place for long, and with the apocalyptic zombie fest, there wasn't a particular need to settle down.

After a twenty minute walk, she arrived in a ditch that led onto the highway outside the forest. She ascended the trench and was just passing an abandoned car when she stopped. She looked at her reflection in the tinted window and wondered how long it would be before she threw up. The dried blood and dirt that covered her was starting to make her nauseated.

She turned away, wanting to never look at herself again. The sun was already coming up, the sky overhead only shifted from a dingy yellow to blue. She walked on, passing two more abandoned vehicles as she made her way down the road. _I wish I could have a bath,_ Rosie thought. A nice hot bath just to ease into and forget about everything. In the middle of contemplating that fantasy, a wail of moans erupted from behind her.

There was a pack of walkers coming toward her with deadly precision. She was running before she had a chance to blink. Her legs were pumping even before her brain had finished realizing that there were six of them. During the flee she had to toss her bag aside to gain more speed, otherwise she would as well be food. Nothing mattered in the world but to survive. The abandoned cars came and went in a blur. The trees. The grass. Then she was out in a field, powering toward the next patch of forest. The air coming in and out of her lungs burned the delicate flesh of her throat. She didn't slow. Her chest heaved in and out as she tried to draw in all the air.

Rosie zipped past knots of trees and heard the walkers wails fading from behind her. She slowed a step, jumped over a log, but the branch sticking out from the side caught her right pant leg, and she fell. The forest floor wasn't friendly to her stomach. She hit with a force that knocked the air right out of her. Pain had ripped through her body. She shook her aching head and scrambled to her feet. She couldn't stop, and her instincts pushed her on.

She made about three steps before she collapsed onto the ground. She lay facedown on the earth floor with one hand stretched out over her head and the other under her body. She propped herself up onto her elbow and touched the side of her head. It was bleeding.

She closed her eyes and felt like her skull was going to bust wide open. She wished it would. That sounded better than being eaten alive by Walkers. Finally Rosie pushed her scraped hands onto the ground and stood up shakily. She could hear them coming. _So this is what it feels like, _she thought. Adrenaline was beginning to course through her. If this was the end, she certainly wasn't going down without a fight.

The first walker came out of the bush. It was a man, mid-forties, he looked like a farmer. Or something along the line of that. He lumbered toward her, arms outstretched. Rosie picked up a thick branch and smashed his face in. He fell backward and managed to let out a groan. She stood above him and continued to smash his skull in until he stopped moving. As if on cue another male walker swayed on unreliable legs, she raised her foot and kicked him in the abdomen, knocking him into the female walker that came shortly from behind. She stepped forward and drove the end of the branch through the female's head. Then she ripped it out and did the same to the walker next to her.

If not for a grunt too close to her ear, she might not have reacted in time. She whirled around, leaning back to avoid a infected hand missing half its fingernails.

The army-uniformed walker had his mouth stretched out impossibly wide, strands of rotten flesh lodged between chipped teeth, as it leaned forward to take a chunk out of Rosie's neck. Her right arm rose from her side in a quick backhand motion, smacking the officer with the branch which lead him to fall onto the ground with a thud. At the sudden impact, Rosie lifted her foot and stomped his face in. For a fleeting moment, she noticed a handgun that was still strapped on the officer's side, plus a doubled edge dagger. Well luck seemed to have finally caught up with her.

"Thanks," Rosie said, tossing the branch away. "Not that you're gonna need these anyway."

She pulled the handgun out of his holster and fired a shot into the last walker's chest that came at her to gain some separation. It reclined momentarily but leaned forward, it's rotten face contorted in equal parts of rage and hunger. Still on her knees, Rosie aimed her new handgun and fired at the walker's head. The bullet caught it under the chin, piercing through the roof of his mouth that burrowed into it's brain. The walker's head whipped backward and collapsed.

Scanning around, Rosie finally found herself alone. For now. She grabbed the officer's holster and his remaining ammo. She strapped it on and grabbed the double edged knife and slipped it into the side of her belt. Then she continued to grope his pockets to see if he had anything else of use. Her hand went in to his left pocket and pulled out a wallet.

Glancing around just one last time to make sure she was safe, she opened it and pulled out a old cracked photo from one of the card slots. It was a picture of the officer and a child. His daughter nonetheless. Her eyes rested on his profile. The officer looked much better before he turned, although that wasn't really important. She then stared at the little girl's grinning, cross-eyed face as tears began to fill her eyes. She let out a stifled sob as she read the back of the photograph:_ Jason and Amy. Daddy and me. I miss you and can't wait for you to come home. _The adrenaline seemed to have left her veins now.

Sweat poured down from her temples. It mixed with the blood and tears. Her back. Her arms. Her lungs feel like they'd been roasted over an open flame. Bent at the waist, she dropped the photo and held her face. "I'm sorry," Rosie whispered. She struggled to move her rigid muscles. "I'm so sorry," she finally stood up and ran away.

* * *

**A/N: This story takes place shortly after the season two episode "Bloodletting." To get a better understanding of her profile, Rosie is portrayed by Sarah Butler. © All copyrighted materials posted in this story are for the sole purposes of documenting and illustrating my interest for TWD with _Rosie Howard_, whom I created. All rights are reserved and respected to their original copyright owners. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended. **


	2. Bliss

**A/N: **_First of all, I'm so so sooo sorry for this late chapter! I've been really busy with school. I'm graduating in a month so I've had a ton of shit to do, etc. Ahhhh. Anyway, this one is pretty short so I apologize again! It's not as exciting as the prologue. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading. _

* * *

**(I)**

_**Bliss**_

Rosie listened closely for signs of life, but all she could hear was the faint chirping of birds within the forest. She walked through trees and brush and tangled undergrowth, wondering if it would ever end. She groaned, holding the side of her head. She could imagine the gash accompanied by an ugly purple bruise on the right side of her forehead. It stopped bleeding, but her head was still pounding ferociously. She needed a rest.

She slumped against a tree, letting her bag drop beside her. In a daze, she reached down and grabbed a bottle of water. She drank the entire bottle without pause, feeling it settle in her empty stomach. She was hungry but decided it was best to salvage what little goods she had left. For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the bushes, and then she closed her eyes.

A warm, reddish light from the street was filtering through the window, lighting her bed. Someone's arm was around her waist. She woke up and froze. Her heart stopped beating. She stopped breathing.

She turned her eyes to the man beside her in bed who looked very much like her ex, Shane. Shane Walsh. She turned her eyes to the window in her room and then back to Shane again, sure that the dream she was dreaming would end. It didn't. She could feel his muscular arm gently tighten around her. She'd heard that people hallucinated in the happiest way just before they died. She hadn't deprived herself that badly, had she?

She would just calm down, slow down, and think a minute. Shane. Of all people to dream about, why her ex? He'd broken up with her after Rick was admitted into the hospital. He couldn't handle all the 'pressure' and needed a 'break'. Oh sure! She knew he had feelings for Lori. Rick's wife. But that didn't stop her from loving him.

Rosie turned on her other side and was facing him now. His face was serene and lovely beyond description. She drew closer. His eyelids flickered. She drew back.

"Rosie?" he whispered, half asleep.

"Hmm," she sighed.

He was leaning forward, his face inches from hers. So close. So real.

"What's wrong?" he asked, drawing in his breath. He touched his fingers to the side of her cheek. His face showed real worry. "Is something wrong?"

She felt like crying just then. Now she remembered how much deeply she'd loved him. With a fierceness that made her know he'd never feel the same. "I'm sorry," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"No, Rosie," he whispered. "Don't. I love you."

"No you don't, you don't, you—" his lips found her mouth, and the gentleness gave away to intensity. She was kissing him back, hungrily, pressing herself against him. She tasted him and felt him and smelled him all at once. Her chest was hurting, and her head was spinning. His arms were around her now, gathering her up, holding her as tight and close against him as she could be. His lips left hers and a breathy sound escaped her lips.

"I love you," he whispered against her neck. "I love you."

_I love you._ She'd always wondered what it would sound like coming from him. It was bliss. "I love you too," she told him in a small voice, even though she knew she'd regret it. "I love you too." And then she woke up again.

Rosie rested her head in her hand, staring at the ground, trying to fight off a terrible wave of loneliness. And stupidity. She wondered if Shane was still alive. If Rick was still alive and his son and his—Rosie felt a little stirring in her stomach at the thought of Rick's wife. The anger she had was almost paralyzing. But it wasn't directed at Lori now. For the moment she was angry only at herself.


	3. Skeletons

**(II)**

**_Skeletons_**

The deserted gas station sat at the intersection of two rural highways, a mile north of the forest. In the distance it looked deserted but looks can be deceiving.

Breaking away from the trees, she hurried across the clearing. It was dangerous, with no cover, nothing but short grass and the sun heating the back of her jacket. As she approached the parking lot, she scooped up a scrap of metal and hurled it out in front of her. It arced through the broken window and struck something with a faint clatter before dropping to the floor. No wailing, no moaning, no walkers. That was a good sign. She slipped through the jagged maw of broken glass and visited the ransacked interior of the gas station.

She grabbed nearly twenty pounds of groceries from the shelves—small canned food, bottles of water, lighters, vitamins, cold remedies, ointment, and rolls of blessed, blessed toilet paper—throwing it all into her bag with lightening speed. On her way back toward the front of the store, she wandered into the bathroom. A mirror ran the length of the counter, and her reflection gazed back at her over the sink. She cringed. She was filthy and dirt streaked, dried blood still clinging to her clothes and skin. Adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she left the bathroom just as a creak came from a door.

Rosie's heart thumped as she stood there for a moment, listening. The gas station was silent. Then another creaking noise penetrated the stillness. It came from the back. Someone or some _thing _was pushing itself into the store. She went behind the checkout counter, crouching down. From the back, the sound of shuffling footsteps can clearly be heard. Whatever came in seemed to have fallen silent and still. The only thing she could hear now was her chugging heart.

Quiet behind the counter, her brain was swimming with panic. She slowly pulled out her double-edged blade, lifting it up. She lunged from behind the counter with it raised and ready to attack.

A group of four men—all heavily armed—stood in the middle of the store.

"Rosie?"

She thought her heart would splinter into a thousand pieces as he called out her name. _No_, she thought, dazed. _It can't be. He can't be here now. It's not possible._

But it was, and she knew who it was, even before she met his piercing, familiar gaze across the store. Hazel eyed, muscular and tall, like he'd stepped right out of her memory, out of her dreams, and into existence. His hair was buzzed cut now, and to her surprise, he looked rested and well fed.

"Oh my God," she whispered, feeling tears spill out of her eyes. "Shane."

Rosie ran across the room, not stopping to think about anything—how Shane was still alive, how he could be here, how _she_ was still alive. She shoved all of that to the back of her mind, promising to deal with it later, as she hurried across the floor, dropping her knife as she did, and lunged into Shane's arms. He crushed her into him, his breath warm on her skin. She felt his heart racing in his chest, felt the hard muscles shifting underneath his shirt, and, for a moment, she let herself relax against him. He was alive. How, she didn't know, but he was alive.

"You're alive." He pulled back, gazing at her. Lifting his hand, he traced the shape of her face. His stare was awed, hopeful, as if he couldn't quite believe she was real and had to touch her to make sure she wasn't a ghost. "Rosie."

Though it was painful, she swallowed the thickness in her throat. "_You're alive._"

"Ahem." There was an awkward cough from behind them.

Shane cleared his throat nervously and looked back at his companions."Right. Glenn, Daryl, T-Dog," he said. "This is Rosie. Rosie, this is Glenn, Daryl, and T-Dog." He motioned to the three men. They nodded hello but wearily kept their eyes locked on Rosie. "Guys, calm down. She's not a threat. We went to high school together, you can even ask Rick."

She almost collapsed in relief. "Rick's alive... and little Carl?"

"Yeah," Shane nodded and turned back to Rosie, smiling faintly. "Carl and Lori too." _Lori._

"I see." She muttered, turning her face away. Shane's gaze hadn't left her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "That's great news."


End file.
